


Peach

by Val_Creative



Series: Rainbow Femslash February 2020 [8]
Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, Humor, Makeup, Married Couple, No Angst, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: If ever there is a face that delights Anne… it is Ann’s face.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Series: Rainbow Femslash February 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620025
Comments: 16
Kudos: 73
Collections: Femslash February





	Peach

**Author's Note:**

> This OTP never fails to make me smile. I hope that fellow shippers get to see this and it makes them smile too. This is for Day 8 " _Makeup_ " on the set of [prompts](https://femslashfeb.tumblr.com/post/190473208546/any-world-any-fandom-any-originals-however-you) for Femslash February. Any comments/thoughts are welcomed, yes!

*

If ever there is a face Anne is delighted to see… that is _Ann's_ face.

(Young, pretty, and delightfully _soft_ against Anne's nethers.)

But presently, they're joining the Priestlys and Edwards at Cliffhill for supper that evening, and Anne impatiently walks about one of the larger, more extravagant rooms. Gilded as brightly as a songbird's cage. No wonder Ann loathed it.

Her wife cheerfully arranges her stiff, golden curls in a mirror's reflection. She's seated at a painted, lovely table covered with open compacts of blush and creme and other sorts of lady-like items that Anne dreads of encountering herself. As her darling Ann — her sweet, clever wife who fell in love with Anne as a finespun sapling of a girl — feels a _repugnance_ for men romantically and physically, Anne too feels the same for any man but _also_ for conformity to her society's beauty standards for women.

"Good lord," Anne mumbles, taking a step back as the other woman raises the swan-down puff to her brow.

"The powder won't bite you, Anne."

She dismisses the good-natured teasing, leaning in and cupping under Ann's face. "I much prefer my _wife_ …" Anne declares, nuzzling their mouths, "my heart's love and true joy…" and basking in Ann's shudder of heated desire, "and her _biting_ … little…"

There's a hint of fragrant peach to Ann's spit. Anne kisses her with firm resolve, drinking her in, tasting every inch.

"Must you be so difficult?" Ann whines, pulling away.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. It's part of my nature."

She chuckles at Ann's eye-roll. "Come, come. Sit," Ann orders primly, and Anne does listen, tapping her cane and joining in the second chair by the mirror-table. "I'll do a lip reading for you. Sophie spoke of it—I need you to hand me that fabric."

Anne does as bid, handing Ann a lightweight, white handkerchief. That's when she feels Ann grab a hold of her face.

For a frail thing, she's as _powerful_ as an oxen when motivated.

"What on earth are you—"

"Hold still," Ann insists, taking a dab of the rose-coloured creme and massaging it over Anne's lips. "Press this between your lips. Don't rub." It's only for a moment, but Anne raises the handkerchief with eyes widening, and then it's gone. "Let me have it."

"I do enjoy you ordering me about, Ann," she rumbles out, smiling.

Ann's lips quirk. " _Shush_."

"Isn't this a bit occult?"

"A parlor game. Harmless." Anne waits for her wife to finish inspect Anne's lip-print on the handkerchief, nodding sagely. How did it ever come to this, she wonders. Falling prey to the flaws and wonders of _love_ … taming herself in the warm, tender feelings for this silly pigeon. Anne regrets nothing. "My, my, yes… a _rectangle_ shape. Which means… ah, yes, you're very good at advice."

Anne preens. "Why, of course."

"But seldom good at _taking it_."

She frowns.

"Your lip size is smaller. This means you're especially detail oriented. You need everything to go according to plan." _That's true enough_. "You're generous… expressive…" Ann chimes, her blue eyes narrowing. "But picky… oh, there's so many stress lines…"

"I can only imagine why," Anne says, interrupting, tossing away the ruined handkerchief. "Complete nonsense."

" _Anne_ —"

The other woman pouts halfheartedly until Anne lifts Ann's hand, her warm mouth bumping against her wedding ring. Ann repeats the fond, loving kiss to the silver-band of Anne's own wedding ring. Her little, alabaster cheeks flush in pure happiness.

It's the same kind of delighted look Ann gives her when they're lounging in the sheets, whispering about fantasies and hopes.

Anne's fingers seek out the curves of Ann's lithe, nude body, longing for the fleshy surrender and _drench_ of her womanhood. Of course. Of course, _yes_ … her face is the last face Anne ever wishes to see. By light or by darkness of death.

*


End file.
